


One of those days

by selea



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, John having a bad day, M/M, Sherlock playing along, bad day, banter competition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 11:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6237403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selea/pseuds/selea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is having a bad day and Sherlock wouldn't be the perfect flatmate that he is if he wouldn't help along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of those days

It was one of those times you knew just from the sound of the alarm clock that it’s going to be a shitty day. He didn’t have to go to the clinic, which was a good thing, but Sherlock didn’t have a case either, and that was a sure recipe for a spectacular clash of two excessively inflated egos. And judging by the smell of something burned coming from downstairs, the day has already started.

He turned around in a futile attempt to postpone life in general, but the burning smell was getting worse.

“Sherlock! The kitchen!” he shouted and then groaned. If Sherlock was there, he would sure do something. Or not.

Downstairs, the burning mystery turned out to be milk that boiled over, spilled around the stove and eventually evaporated, leaving behind the tell-tale black crust and smell. Judging by the sounds of running water and the steam rolling from under the bathroom door, Sherlock was in there for quite a while.

“Sherlock, the milk boiled over!” he shouted again and an _Oh!_ came from the bathroom.

“No problem, I’ll just repeat the experiment,” Sherlock shouted back. “You can clean it!”

“Yes, right away!” John spit with sarcasm, turned off the stove and poured some water over the now carbonated milk. Sherlock could do the rest, although there was a fair possibility he would just start studying the molds that would eventually grow.

“Is this you being difficult?” Sherlock shouted after a minute and John almost smiled at that. Almost.

Instead, he prepared himself a mug of Earl Grey while keeping a steady stream of grumping just to fill the silence with something, but when he picked up the empty milk carton, his mood dropped another notch. He planned on a quiet day in, nursing his temper in a dark corner, but let God be the witness that Sherlock started it.

“Come on, you almighty queen of the bathroom. Stop wanking and get out!”

“I’m not a queen!”

“That’s what you picked out?”

“You can be hardly one to condemn wanking since it still smells like you wanking in here.”

“What?! I haven’t even been in the bathroom today!”

“It must have been a busy evening. Oh, here, you forgot …”

“Just shut up and get out!”

 

Sherlock: 1, John: 0

\----------OOO-----------

“We need milk and something for lunch,” John declared when he finally struggled all the way through his bitter cup of tea and a toast.

“Perfect, can you also pick up ten meters of rope, eight corks, the biggest you can get, a wrap of polyvinyl, pins, two AA batteries, plastic cups, baby oil and a fish, doesn’t matter which one as long as it smells after some days. Oh, and a gas mask. I always forget to get one of those.” Sherlock was sprawled on the sofa in his dressing gown, reading a book and munching on a piece of bread because he was too lazy to make himself a toast and John was still too angry to do it for him.

“Since I already forgot half of it, why don’t you go and pick the milk on the way?”

“I don’t do shopping, John!”

“I bet you don’t even know where the store is.”

“Of course I know where it is! It’s that place that got robbed last year and I solved it!”

“Somehow I feel you just proved my point ...”

Sherlock glared.

“Just … go get dresses,” John huffed and went to get his fair share of the bathroom time. And he was fairly certain no more than ten minutes passed before the detective came knocking on the door.

 “Come on, John, people will start talking if you keep grooming yourself longer than all women I know!”

“Have you been spying on Mrs Hudson again?

“… No.”

 

Sherlock: 1, John: 1

\----------OOO-----------

“John, time is running between our fingers, precious moments we will never get back and I’m wasting my youth…”

“Just a second!”

“It’s been several seconds already! I was right about you needing more time than women.”

“If you don’t shut up I’ll start delaying on purpose!”

“Yes, just like women!” Sherlock sighed loud enough to be heard in John’s bedroom and John seriously contemplated tiding up his room or something similarly unurgent just to annoy his flatmate. Instead, he pulled the belt he was searching for out of the drawer and finished dressing.

“Couldn’t decide on which hideous jumper to wear?” Sherlock smirked, looming at the front door and already sweating in his coat, scarf and gloves.

“At least I don’t need a sock index to get dressed.”

 

Sherlock: 1, John: 2

\----------OOO-----------

Besides two cartons of milk (one of which he planned to hide in Mrs Hudson’s fridge), he also picked up some rice, chicken breasts, leek, carrots and some fruits, because even if the universe wanted him to be a jerk today, he would still make sure he and the consulting bathroom queen ate.

He then went on a quest to find the mad detective, checking he got everything while wandering the aisles. He found him in the health and beauty care department of all places, animatedly chatting to some cute blond girl, who was doing her uttermost best to impose her exposed cleavage in his face.

“... is highly poisonous! I once had a case of a wife poisoning her husband by adding these eye drops in the beverages she prepared. You should pick another brand,” Sherlock huffed, clearly annoyed. “Unless you want to murder someone.”

“Really? Tell me more,” she purred and leaned against her trolley, provoking another burst of confusion and annoyance from the detective.

“Like I already explained, these eye drops contain a rather high amount of mercury, which is highly poisonous …”

As amusing as it was, John decided to take pity on Sherlock.

“Sherlock, dear, we are running a bit late. Did you get everything you needed?” Well, apparently he wasn’t such Good Samaritan after all.

Her face went red instantly and she almost climbed into her trolley for how quickly she bolted away while squeaking some incoherent excuses. The different shades of confusion on Sherlock’s face were a delight to watch.

“What did just happen?” Of course he detected nothing wrong with John’s phrasing, that’s the self-proclaimed genius for you.

“I believe I cockblocked you, not that you noticed. You can thank me later.”

Sherlock blinked at that.

“Oh, you’re jealous!” the detective sneered after another minute of puzzled staring at John.

“No, just returning the favour,” John smirked, “Mister _‘it’s just transport’ so I’ll crush John’s dates so he doesn’t get laid either because I’m a selfish bastard_. At least I know when I’m being flirted at.”

“No need to know because I don’t _want_ to _get laid_!” Sherlock spat. “People tend to get infected with feelings.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’re too in love with the highly-functioning-sociopath part of your personality to be susceptible.”

“I didn’t mean me!”

“Oh… Well, don’t flatter yourself, your character leaves a lot to be desired.”

 

Sherlock: 1, John: 3

\----------OOO-----------

When it was finally their turn at the check outs, Sherlock opened a bag of popcorn he picked up along the way and started eating loudly with his mouth open.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Aren’t you going to fight with the chip and PIN machine?”

 

Sherlock: 2, John: 3

\----------OOO-----------

Sherlock was standing behind him and staring into the pan over John's shoulder, making him nervous just because he could. At last, he moved to the other side of the kitchen, stretched himself to the uppermost shelf, where they stored rarely used kitchen appliances and ingredients, and came back with a not at all small dried hot pepper.

»Put this in,« he said and offered the spice to John.

»No way, I'm not breathing fire!«

»It's not that strong,« Sherlock protested.

»It is!« And he knew this from his own bitter experience. Or spicy, for that matter.

»A smaller one?«

Of course he picked the biggest one, the smug bastard planned on haggling from the beginning! But two could play this game.

»Fine, but then I would like to use some rosemary, too.«

“That thing stinks!”

“At least it makes you taste something besides a burning tongue!”

“Fine,” Sherlock conceded, went to exchange the pepper for a smaller one, but returned without the rosemary.

“And the rosemary?”

“Can’t reach it?” It was too smug to even resemble a question.

 

Sherlock: 3, John: 3

\----------OOO-----------

 

“Argh!” Sherlock groaned and threw the book he was reading frisbee style across the living room.

“Aren’t you supposed to be mature or something?” John said when he looked over his newspaper at the offending book which landed in front of the fireplace.

“That’s the third book that claims the decomposition rates of a corpse in urban area are faster than my experiments say!” Sherlock hissed and started ruffling his magpie’s nest of dark curls in frustration.

“Maybe your experiments are wrong.”

“I’m never wrong!” Sherlock barked back and bundled himself in his blue dressing gown, his back to the room.

“Your modesty is inspiring.”

“Argh! I need something to read!”

“Oh,” John exclaimed when an idea came to him. “I thing I have a perfect book for you!” 

Sherlock turned around and glared at him in confusion when John practically ran to his bedroom. Two months ago he found a children’s picture book on astronomy and planets and he had the genius idea to give it to Sherlock for his birthday in front of as many people as possible, but he was never one to pass on a good opportunity. He was grinning up to his ears when he made his way down with the book under his arm.

“Here, I’m sure it will be educational!”

“I’m in shock! I always thought you were hiding porn under your pillow!”

 

Sherlock: 4, John: 3

\----------OOO-----------

“I’m bored.”

“Shocking!” John cheered without looking up from his computer. “Leave the wall alone.”

“Argh, you’re no fun!”

“Why don’t you go have another wank and contemplate on the needs of your transport while you’re at it?”

“It won’t work,” Sherlock growled.

“Oh, and how would you know that?”

“By power of observation, obviously.” That response actually granted an amused look in Sherlock’s direction.

“Are you aware you just confirmed you don’t wank? And I’ll let you know I always feel rather relaxed after it.”

“I never said whom I was observing, but duly noted,” Sherlock said and unfolded himself from the sofa.

“Oh, now you start storing useless information?” John mused and watched Sherlock go to the kitchen and threw some cabinets open, than there was some clattering of metal on the floor tiles, followed by some more rattling and Sherlock returner to the living room, paced four lengths of the room and finally stopped in front of John.

“Can’t find my cigarettes, where are my cigarettes?”

“Threw them away,” John shrugged, just a bit self-satisfied, and Sherlock stormed back to the kitchen. “A month ago! Don’t you dare to search through the trash bin! I’m not cleaning it up!”

“I need some!”

“Nicotine patches are in the medicine cabinet,” John sighed and when nothing else was thrown to the floor, he continued writing the post for his blog, effectively tuning Sherlock out thanks to years of practice. Sherlock paced some more for good measure and then dropped himself over the back rest of John’s armchair, his hands landing on either side of John’s torso.

“What are you doing?” John murmured out of reflex, but didn’t move to remove Sherlock’s hand or himself. Sherlock just grunted something that could be interpreted as _It’s not useless_ and sighed heavily in the back of John’s neck. John tensed for a moment and Sherlock observed with delight how the hair on John’s neck stood up, but then the doctor relaxed, too engrossed in his two fingered writing marathon to really pay attention to his mad flatmate, which didn’t go down well with Sherlock. The detective snorted again behind John’s ear and his hands started moving around, exploring John’s pectorals through his clothes and drawing circles with his thumbs.

“I hope this has a point,” John said after a minute when Sherlock’s explorations got distracting and a great deal inappropriate even for Sherlock’s standards. His blood started relocating to other body parts that were not really useful for writing blog posts or dealing with Sherlock in a civilized way, which was a bit not good.

“I’m bored.”

“Besides that.”

“Do something!” Sherlock suddenly cried out loud, briefly leaned forward over John’s shoulder and then removed himself completely.

“Go clean the fridge,” John suggested gleefully, but Sherlock didn’t take the bait. He was standing by the front door, his hands in the pockets of his pajama trousers and that evil expression on his face that made John pause, swallow and lick his lips.

Shockingly, nothing exploded, so he turned back to his computer to continue on his blog post when his palm landed on the soft armrest of his chair, where his wireless mouse was not a minute ago.

“Give the mouse back,” John said in exasperation.

“What mouse?”

“Fine!” John puffed, moved the cursor to the right place in the text with navigation keys and continued writing. He kept looking at the keyboard and typing while Sherlock kept fidgeting with his clothes, but when John finally glanced at the screen, the text was a perfect example of random gibberish. After all this time he should have known better than to think that ignoring the problem will make it go away.

“Sherlock,” he said as calmly as possible. “The mouse, now!”

“I don’t have it.”

“Oh, so you’re just happy to see me?” John asked and gestured at Sherlock’s hands still in his pockets. He deposited the laptop on the floor.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sherlock said with his best goldfish expression and pulled his hand out of his pocket’s to show he had nothing in them. Too bad the mouse was a clearly visible bulge in the fabric that usually dropped so perfectly down those lean hips. John was out of his chair and across the room before Sherlock had time to blink.

“The mouse or you’re getting a full body search!” John growled and tried to look threatening, but the corners of his lips were already curling upwards.

“Let me think,” Sherlock purred and John had to fight the impulse to throttle him. He was standing so close by this point he could feel Sherlock’s breath on his face, but even that didn’t seem to ruffle Sherlock’s feathers.

“Woohoo, boys!” came Mrs Hudson’s voice from the corridor and in the next moment, the front door opened, bumping Sherlock in the back and pushing him forward in John’s arms and face. Only Sherlock’s quick reflexes saved them from colliding head on, but not before their lips brushed. Sherlock’s head ended up nested in the crook of John’s neck and his hands flew all over John’s body before they found a solid enough grip on his upper arms, but John couldn’t focus on anything beyond the still tingling path Sherlock’s lips made from his mouth to his ear.

“I just thought that this all day long domestic of yours lasted long enough, but I see you already made up. Don’t mind me, carry on!” she said with glee, but made no indication she would leave, instead went into the flat and started tiding up, regularly glancing in their direction with a smirk.

“What?” John blurted, still lost in the beautiful world of his. Sherlock managed to get his legs under him again and was now staring at John with a mixture of shock and puzzlement.

“John?”

But before John’s brain could leave staring at Sherlock’s lips long enough to formulate a comeback worthy of their day’s sparing, the said lips were back on his own and his brain short-circuited for good.

Somehow, Sherlock ended up cradled back against the door again, John standing between his legs and leaning against the detective with his full weight in a half-hearted attempt to climb the lean body to reach those soft lips, which were kind enough to meet him half-way. Their landlady thankfully left at some point, because when they finally gasped for breath, they were alone in the room. Thank God for small mercies like that, because he was so hard by that point that he wasn’t sure he could make it even to the nearest horizontal surface that wasn’t the floor (his shoulder vetoed that one).

Sherlock cleared his throat, but his voice was still hoarse when he spoke.

“Is this your point or mine?”

“Well,” John smirked, dragged his knuckles gently down Sherlock’s side and looked at the shivering detective from behind his eyelashes. “I guess it depends on whether you’ll get infected or not.”

 

Sherlock: 4, John: 4


End file.
